


Famous Last Words

by arituzz



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author is very slow writing this and for that she is sorry, Cats and plants are easier to talk to than humans, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Just the necessary amount, M/M, Music, Mutual Pining, Niall is secretly Troy from High School Musical, Rock Band, Simon works in a flower shop with Ebb, Swearing, Theatre, punk!baz, sort of, there will be some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2018-08-16 20:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8115964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arituzz/pseuds/arituzz
Summary: When your family was a wreck and your perfect girlfriend just left you for your irritating classmate, the only way to carry on was to make a truce with the enemy, right?ORHigh school AU in which Simon and Baz pretend to be boyfriends to save Simon’s love life.





	1. Chapter 1

Simon didn’t take the bus to school. He didn’t take the Tube, either. It was not that his school was near, Simon just liked to walk. Maybe Simon had developed an aversion to public transportation through many years of ridiculous and dreadful Summer Camps.

Simon loved school. Not the lessons. He loved just… being there. There was something magical about Watford’s School that filled Simon’s heart and made him feel at home. That was the only thing Simon had in common with his adoptive father, David Snow—Headmaster of Watford’s School.

Simon loved school so much, _so much_ , he had to mentally prepare himself every day before going there. He’d walk slowly, gradually recalling all the things he loved about school—gradually forgetting all the things he hated about his home.

He’d think about Penny, his best friend. About Agatha, his girlfriend. Because they were still together, right? The last time Simon had seen Agatha was at the party at the end of last school year. Simon had been drinking spiked punch and hardly remembered anything. He had flashes of Penny carrying him home. Of Agatha holding hands with Baz.

The next day his father sent him to Summer Camp, so he hadn’t been able to talk to his friends since then—no phones allowed at Summer Camp.

Fuck Summer Camps. Next summer Simon would already be eighteen, meaning he would legally be able to move out for good. Where, he didn’t care. Anywhere was better than living with his father.

After a long horrible summer with idiotic teenagers whose only expectations in life ranged from reaching second base with their girlfriends to avoid burning their tongues while eating _s’mores_ —not that Simon didn’t actually burn his tongue while eating _s’mores_ —today was the first day of his last year at Watford.

Watford School was composed of two adjacent buildings: Watford High and Watford College. Simon and his friends started today the second—and last—year at Watford College, which wasn’t compulsory but almost every student at Watford High continued their studies at Watford College.

Watford School hosted two parties along the school year: one at the beginning, and one at the end. So, today was Simon’s last Reception Party.

“Simon!” He didn’t have time to turn around before a pair of round arms embraced him into a tight hug.

“Penny!” It was so good to see her again. It was so good to be back. “How was your summer?”

“It was amazing, Simon! Chicago is so beautiful! And Micah even taught me some Spanish, _sabes_?” Penny would go on for hours talking about her boyfriend, but she stopped, knowing that Simon’s summers were shit. “Anyway,” she added, “how was yours?”

“Oh, peachy. We went fishing and sang classic summer camp songs around a bonfire at night, while someone played the guitar.”

“Oh God, Simon. Was it that bad?”

“Some of the boys even _danced_ , Penny.” It was not that  Simon didn’t like music and dancing--quite the opposite--it was that he didn't like the kind of people who went on Summer Camps. Penelope grimaced. When it came to dancing--and practically everything--Penny was excessively judgemental. Penelope danced like nobody else, and she knew it. In fact, she met her boyfriend at a salsa dancing class. “Yeah,” said Simon. “Tell me more about Micah, how is he?”

Penny went on talking about her boyfriend and her holidays in America until they reached the Assembly Hall where the Reception Party was held. A lot of the students were already there but Simon couldn’t spot neither of the two particular heads that had been in his mind all summer. Where were Agatha and Baz? Were they together, making out in an empty corridor? The mere thought disgusted Simon. Agatha was still his girlfriend. And Baz was a tosser.

Basilton “Baz” Pitch was the obnoxious git who was assigned to sit beside Simon since first year at Watford High. Simon hated everything about him: his long dark hair slicked back, dark grey eyeliner matching his stormy eyes, his black nails forever accompanied by a cigarette when he wasn’t on school grounds, his dark jeans slightly ripped at the knees, his black boots, his irritating smugly composure… Simon could spend all day thinking about the things he hated about Baz. Like the fact that he always played the violin at the Reception Parties. Flawlessly, like everything he did. But today he was nowhere to be seen.

“Simon,” Penny whispered beside him. “Stop looking for Agatha, she’s already up front, ready to sing.”

Agatha sang at Watford’s chorus. She was very self-conscious about her voice but, somehow, being surrounded by other singers gave her courage to perform. Simon thought her voice was like her aspect—heavenly.

The first day at school consisted basically in the Reception Party. Students performed in front of everyone, some—like Baz and Agatha—played music, others recited poetry and there was even this guy, Gareth, who prepared a short comedy show.

At the end of the party, everybody went home to get ready for the next day, when the classes started. Simon didn’t have the opportunity to talk to Agatha at all, she was too busy with all her activities.

xxx

The following day, he sent Agatha a text to meet up between classes. What was he going to tell her, though? Did he still want to be her boyfriend? Yes. They were meant to be together. He was just going to tell her that everything was okay between them.

They met at the school’s cafe. Simon loved Watford’s cafeteria. They had the best cherry scones in London.

They sat silently for a while, avoiding each other’s eyes. Agatha sipped at her tea, and Simon ate his scones.

“Simon…” Agatha finally said. “What you saw at last year’s party…”

“No,” Simon cut her. “I didn’t see anything. I don’t remember anything, I was pretty wasted.”

“Simon,” Agatha insisted. “I don’t think I want to be with you right now…”

“Agatha, but we’re meant for each other!”

“Simon.” She let out a breath. “We’re not _meant_ for anything. That’s exactly why I can’t be with you now.”

“But—”

“I’m sorry.”

Simon saw her leave, unable to say anything else. Unable to move until some time afterwards.

xxx

Simon had never been single. Well, of course he had been _single_ when he was a kid, but that didn’t count. Since the first moment he met Agatha he had known they were destined to be together. She was perfect. She was the prettiest girl in school. And Simon was the most popular boy. Everything was bound to go right. But Baz happened. He always had to ruin everything.

What did Agatha see in him? It had to be just a phase. If Agatha saw Simon with another person, she would reconsider.

It was the perfect solution—he had to find a fake partner. It should be easy, considering the amount of girls that actively showed affection towards Simon. But Simon needed someone whom he could trust not to spill it all.

Penny would be the perfect candidate. If it weren’t for Micah. Rhys could do the job, too, but Simon recalled him saying he had someone he wanted to ask out, given time. Gareth simply appalled Simon. He was a decent guy, but Simon couldn’t stand the odd pelvis movements he so often happened to make.

Simon hoped he had more girl friends. But he only had Penny. And Agatha? He had to check that. And maybe Trixie and Keris. But they were out of the question, as everybody knew they were together.

And where was Baz in all of this? He had put him into that situation and had keenly slipped out of it. Of course, he may be kidnapped somewhere or even murdered, but still. Simon would have believed it if he’d done it on purpose.

xxx

October came and Simon was still single. And Baz was still missing. Not that Simon _missed_ him. He was just wondering what he was planning to ruin Simon’s year even more.

It was good not to have an annoying presence beside him at class, for once. And there was no way Simon missed the poshy pens that he borrowed from Baz from time to time. He didn’t miss having him do all the work at partner exercises, either. Or copying his math problems. Well, maybe he did miss that.

Simon had looked for Baz everywhere in school grounds, in case he was hiding without his father’s permission. He had even searched in the park in front of the school. Without any success. This wasn’t funny anymore. Where the fuck was Baz?

One day, Simon cornered one of Baz’s friends, Niall, to inquire about Baz’s whereabouts.

“Where is he?” he demanded.

“Who?”

“ _Baz._ ”

“I don’t know,” Niall replied. “Why are you looking for him? You’re not even friends.”

“None of your business,” Simon said. “If you’re lying to me…”

“Fuck you, Snow. I don’t know where he is. Neither does Dev. Just leave us alone.”

Simon reluctantly let go of him.

If his best friends didn’t know where he was, how was Simon supposed to find him? He needed him to help him with the Agatha problem. Which _he_ created. That tosser wouldn’t get out of this so easily.

xxx

Simon went through all of the school area at least twice that day before settling for the roof. It was his favourite place. Sometimes he brought some sour cherry scones and tea and just sat there looking at the sky. He especially liked to go there at night, particularly those nights when his dad decided to stay at home. And today was one of those nights.

It was so dark he almost couldn’t see the strange figure sitting against the wall, if it weren’t for the smoke coming out of their mouth. Who had the nerve to come to school, at night, to _smoke_ on the roof?

Baz.

Of course.

“You can’t smoke on school grounds.”

Baz looked up at him, uninterested. “What? Are you going to run and tell your father?” He asked, defiantly. “Or are you asking because you are concerned about my health?” Baz smirked.

“I’m not your mother. Sure, smoke, kill yourself. Whatever.” It had only been a matter of seconds and Baz had already managed to irritate Simon. That had to be a record or something, even for them. “Where have you been?”

“Since when do you care?”

“I don’t.”

Baz smirked again. “What are you doing here, Snow?”

“Agatha broke up with me,” he found himself saying. What? Why was he telling him that? Because he was the one to blame, right. “You have to help me find someone to date.”

Baz’s eyebrows quirked up in surprise. “What did you just say?” He schooled his features and added, “You must have gone mental if you think I’m going to help you with your love life.”

“I need someone to pretend to be my new partner and make Agatha jealous,” Simon said. “Plus, it’s all your fault. I saw you two holding hands last year.”

“So?”

“I think she now likes you better than me,” Simon mumbled.

“Yeah, ‘cause my hands are that irresistible. Sure, Snow.” There was a glint in Baz’s eyes that told Simon he was having fun with all this. “Anyway, the answer’s still no.”

“Are you coming back to classes?”

“Eh? Why do you care?”

“You have until tomorrow at breakfast to think about it. Give me an answer then.”

“What do I win with all of this?”

“Clean your name?” Simon suggested.

“Try harder.” Baz threw his now finished cigarette on the floor and it almost landed on Simon’s shoe.

“You’re not okay,” Simon said, out of the blue.

“What would you know?”

“I can see it in your face. You have problems. I can help you.” Simon looked at Baz’s eyes and knew that he was right. “If you help me.”

“No,” Baz said. But it wasn’t convincing. Simon wasn’t fooled.

“Remember. Tomorrow. Breakfast,” Simon said before leaving.

xxx

The following day Simon couldn’t stop thinking about Baz. Would he accept the offer and help him? Who would he suggest as Simon’s fake date? Simon hoped it was neither Niall nor Dev, he detested them.

But breakfast came and went and Baz still was nowhere to be seen. Maybe Simon had overestimated his persuasion skills.

After the morning classes, Simon met Penny for lunch at the school’s canteen. He spent all the time thinking about Baz, he barely ate anything—which was an alarming sign that Simon decided to ignore. At the end of lunch, all hope that Simon might have had was already gone. Why did he hope Baz would say yes in the first place?

“Simon Snow.”

Simon had been too busy thinking about last night’s encounter to see the boy entering the school’s canteen and going straight where Simon and Penny were. All eyes were on Simon.

Someone cleared his voice, in front of him. Simon looked up. “Huh?”

“Snow,” Baz said. “I won’t say this twice, so you’d better listen for once in your life.” Baz looked like he was about to slap him. Should he be prepared to dodge him? Should he slap him first, just in case? But Baz continued, “Will you go out with me?”


	2. Chapter 2

Not often had Simon seen Penny speechless. His best friend was used to all kinds of situations, so she wasn’t easily surprised. But Simon was.

But now they were both clearly gobsmacked.

Simon heard Penny almost choking on her tea, before someone–probably Rhys–nudged him and brought his attention back to Baz.

Right. _Baz_.

“I– Uhm.” Simon stared in shock at the dark skinned boy standing in front of him. He looked at his dark boots, at his dark clothes, at his dark nails. At his dark hair. At his dark grey eyes. Everything about him was dark. “Yes,” he said finally. “I’ll go out with you.”

“Uhm. Okay, then,” Baz said, nodding his head.

“Yeah.” Simon didn’t know what he was supposed to say. Or do. Should they shake hands? Should he stand up and hug Baz? Kiss him?

Fortunately, Baz interrupted Simon’s thoughts before they got too awkward. “I- I’m going to…” Baz was stuttering. _Baz, stuttering_. That was a first. “I g-guess…” And a second. Simon never thought he’d live to witness that. “I will… see you later?”

“Y-yeah.” (Simon always stuttered.)

And like that, Baz turned around and left. No kiss. No hug. Nothing.

Simon grabbed his cup of tea only to give his hands something to do, and took a sip.

After the embarrassing exchange, a thick and uncomfortable silence had settled in the dining hall. And, Simon believed, the whole planet.

But it didn’t last long.

Luckily for everyone but Simon, Penny regained the ability to speak, pressing play on the world. “What the _fuck_ , Simon?” she almost shouted. The rest of the students in the dining hall went back to whatever they were doing before the apocalypse.

“What the hell was that, mate?” Rhys followed. It was definitely a good question.

Simon had no idea what to say. “Oh. Did I forget to mention that I…” he started. “That Baz– That we– Like each other?”

It’s not like he could tell them the truth. They knew Agatha. Plus, they’d never approve. Lying was the easiest option.

“ _Clearly_ ,” Penny said. “When did this happen, Simon?” Oh no. Penelope was in interrogation mode.

Simon’s tea was already cold. And it was not like he could magically heat it, so he left it on the table again, letting out an exasperated sigh. “It _just_ happened right now, Penny. _He_ asked _me_ out. You heard,” he said. Simon was equally clueless about the whole Baz-actually-asking-him-out situation. Baz was supposed to find someone to be Simon’s partner, not volunteer himself. That wasn’t what he meant at all. It didn’t make sense.

“And you said yes,” Penny continued.

Wait. That was true. “Yeah.” Why the fuck did he say yes?

“Because you like him,” Penny said, as if she could hear Simon’s thoughts.

“Yeah.”

“And he likes you,” she went on.

“Yeah.” Simon was in automatic mode.

After thinking it for a moment, she said, “This is weird, Simon.”

“Yeah,” Simon agreed.

“But it kind of…” Penny looked at Simon the same way she looked at a tricky math problem when she was about to solve it. “Makes sense,” she finished.

“Yea– What?” What had Penelope just said?

“You’ve been obsessed with him since first year at Watford High,” she explained. “You even followed him everywhere in fifth.”

No. That wasn’t why he followed Baz. “Because he was plotting,” Simon said.

Wasn’t anyone going to help him with the Penelope Inquisition? Everybody knew Baz and Simon were enemies. But no, all his friends were silent, witnessing the butchery. What a bunch of traitors.

“Plotting what?” Penny asked.

“How to sabotage my grades.” Simon just wanted to get out of there, find Baz and drag an explanation out of him.

Penny pursed her lips together. “Simon, you do that yourself better than anyone.”

“But he was planning to ruin the school play!” Simon protested.

“Simon,” Penny sounded as if she didn’t believe him. “You can stop pretending now. He’s your _boyfriend_.”

“Yeah. My boyfriend.” It sounded so weird.

“Can you stop?” Penny asked.

“Stop what?”

“The yeah thing. Use your words, Simon,” she said. “Come on, tell me everything.”

“Yeah, tell us, mate,” Gareth joined in. What a Judas. “When did you realise what you felt for each other wasn’t hate, but you know,” he said, arching his eyebrows. Simon could practically see Gareth doing one of his pelvic thrusts, as he said that. Why did he have to make all this even more awkward? “Infatuation?” he continued. Yeah, much better with his mouth shut.

Simon stood up. The classes were about to start again and he needed to talk to Baz. “I have to uhm… go find my…” It was still weird to say it. “Boyfriend.”

xxx

Simon managed to escape from his friends’ inquiries and went in search of the one who had put him in all this mess. He ran through the corridors but could not find that bastard who was now his… boyfriend.

He found Trixie’s girlfriend in one of the corridors. Maybe she could help him.

“Have you seen Baz?” Simon asked. Keris looked at him with a confused expression. “This tall?” Simon continued. “Dresses like he lives in a funeral? Eats souls for fun?”

“Snow, I fucking know who Baz is,” she said, bringing a hand to her face. “Why are you looking for him?”

“Oh, uhm. We’re sort of… together,” he said. “As in, a couple, you know? Boyfriends.” Yes. Still, weird.

“ _What_ ,” Keris said, more an exclamation than a question. “Why?”

Simon had no time for this. “Keris, have you seen him or not?”

“No, but–”

Simon didn’t wait for her to finish. He had to find Baz.

He was in front of Baz’s locker when the bell for next period rang. Shit. The talking would have to wait.

Simon was out of breath when he entered the classroom. The questioning eyes of his classmates didn’t help at all, and Baz looking up at him only made it worse. Simon closed his eyes, as if steadying himself, took a deep breath and went to sit beside him. It had been so long without Baz that Simon had almost forgot he sat side by side with the devil. Almost.

Everyone was watching them, Agatha included. Simon had to do something. So, he rested his left hand on top of Baz’s right one and laced their fingers together. He could feel Baz tensing under his grip.

Agatha stared at them from her seat, two rows ahead of them on the left. Simon wasn’t sure of what he saw in Agatha’s expression. He couldn’t tell who she was jealous over in this situation. Or if she was even jealous at all. Maybe the whole plan was stupid. But it was not like Baz to do stupid things. Evil, yes; stupid, no. He was definitely up to something. ****

“Hey,” said Baz, his eyes fixed on Simon’s hand. He looked rather uncomfortable, although Simon could have sworn Baz was blushing beneath his dark skin.

Baz’s hand was cold. No, not cold. Simon knew cold, but this was something else entirely. It was freezing. Simon felt the urge to cradle it between both his hands and give him some of his own warmth.

“Hey,” Simon said. So, now would be a good time to talk about their relationship.

But they were interrupted by Miss Possibelf, who started giving her lesson. Neither of them made a move to pull away. It felt weird. Not repulsive weird but… good weird, if that even made sense. Eventually, though, they had to use their hands to take their notebooks and textbooks out. It surprised Simon that he felt even colder without Baz’s hand under his.

Unlike Simon, Baz was left-handed, which was normally a good thing – they could both take notes without bothering each other too much. But now, the fact that they could hold hands _and_ write at the same time was rather distracting. Simon tried to focus on the lesson but he couldn’t pay any attention at all.

They exchanged a couple of uncomfortable looks but they didn’t say anything to each other until the classes finished. Then, Baz gathered his things and was out of the room in a heartbeat. Simon ran after him.

Just then Simon noticed Baz was limping. He’d been too distracted before to see it.

“Baz!” Simon grabbed Baz’s hand but he snatched it away.

“What do you want Snow–” Baz started, but then he seemed to notice everyone was looking and added, “–flake?”

He’d just called Simon _snowflake_. “Uhm. Do you…” Simon started. He wanted to talk to Baz about the relationship thing, but he also had to go to work. “Do you… want to walk me to work?”

“Oh.” Baz looked like he’d just remembered something, and took Simon’s hand into his, lacing their fingers together again. “Is it far?”

Simon let himself linger on the cold warmth of Baz’s touch. “A little,” he said. “It’s downtown.”

“I’ll give you a ride, then.”

xxx

Simon followed Baz to the school parking. Well, it was more letting himself be dragged than actually following him.

As soon they got outside the school building, Baz let go of Simon, took a packet of cigarettes from his leather jacket pocket and lit one.

Simon didn’t know what to do with his hands so he just put them in his hoodie pocket. They were more sweaty than usual.

“Want one?” Baz asked, offering Simon the cigarette he’d just lit.

“No!” Simon snarled. The possibility of an indirect kiss didn’t make it any less disgusting.

They walked side by side until Baz made them stop in front of a burgundy sports car. A Jaguar. His father’s, Simon guessed.

“What about your bike?” Simon asked.

Baz arched an eyebrow at him. “It’s getting fixed.”

“Oh.” Simon realised then, with rising concern that he really wanted Baz to give him a ride on his bike.

Baz tossed the cigarette to the floor, before jumping into the driver’s seat. He had it started before Simon had even opened the passenger door, and a loud music started playing, coming apparently straight from hell. As soon as Simon was inside, Baz jerked out of the parking spot and gunned the motor, driving as fast as he could down the busy street.

Simon turned the volume down as he went through the stack of CDs in the car: _My Chemical Romance, Linkin Park, Panic! at the Disco, System of a Down, Fall Out Boy._ All of them with rather disturbing cover art. “Jesus,” he said, “how can you like this music?”

Baz didn’t take his eyes off the road. “I just do.”

“It’s depressing.”

“It’s expressive,” Baz said. “Life is not a stupid musical, Simon.”

“I know, trust me.” Simon left the CDs back in their place and resigned to just listen to what was already playing. “It’s just– It doesn’t hurt to try and be a bit optimistic sometimes, you know?”

Baz glanced at Simon sideways, his grip visibly tensing on the steering wheel. “Maybe, for some of us, it does.”

Simon considered and discarded talking about it, and just settled to listening to the music.

He couldn’t help imagining Baz singing along. Dancing to it. How was one even supposed to dance to this? But, it turned out, Baz was right: It _was_ expressive. Simon had to admit it wasn’t so bad after all.

There was a particular song that caught Simon’s attention, and he could almost hear Baz singing the lyrics: _I am not afraid to keep on living…_

“Snow.”

“Uh?”

“I said, where do you work?”

“Oh. Right.” Simon had forgotten about work completely. He looked round to see where they were. “Shit. Turn around,” he said. They had already passed Ebb’s shop. Baz gave the car a sharp turn, which miraculously didn’t end up fatal. “Yeah now turn left,” Simon continued. “Here,” he said as he saw the sign _Lilacs’n’Roses_. “It’s here.”

Baz pulled over to the kerb, right before the shop. “Okay, then,” he said.

Simon looked at the car’s digital clock: 3:50 pm. He didn’t have to work until four, so it seemed like the perfect time to talk about their relationship. “Uhm. Baz.”

“What?”

“I have ten more minutes.”

Baz cocked a questioning eyebrow at him. “So?”

“Let’s talk about our… relationship,” Simon said, turning around to look better at Baz.

“There is no relationship,” Baz said. “You do realise this is fake, right?”

“I do. But…” Simon stared down at his hands. “Don’t you think Agatha might get jealous of me instead?”

“Not if she thinks I’m gay.”

“Oh.” Simon hadn’t thought about that.

“Anything else?”

Simon looked back up at Baz. “What do you win with all this?” he asked.

Baz shifted his gaze to the street and went silent for a moment. “You’ll help me with something,” Baz said, finally.

“With what?”

“I will tell you, but not now.”

“When?” Simon pressed.

“Fuck, Snow.” Baz was clearly annoyed. “I’ll tell you when I tell you. Get out of the car.”

Simon reached for the door handle but he turned around in the last second. “One more thing,” he said.

“What now?” Baz said, exasperated.

“Give me your number.”

“Why?”

“Boyfriends are supposed to have each other’s number.”

“Fine.” Baz reached over, and for a moment–a split second–Simon believed Baz was going to kiss him. But he just opened the glove compartment. Baz took his eyeliner pencil and  grabbed Simon’s left wrist, rolling his sleeve up. With impossibly neat handwriting he wrote down what Simon guessed was his phone number. “There. Don’t smudge it.”

Simon wondered if that was what Baz did to all the pretty girls he met at his satanic rituals. Was that how he flirted?

Now, what? Were they going to kiss now? And just like that it hit Simon like a bolt of lightning – eventually they _would_ have to kiss. Directly. And certain thoughts were very difficult to unthink.

“Shit. I’m late,” Simon said as he stomped out of the car. “Bye.”

xxx

“Hey, Ebb!” Simon shouted as he entered the shop. “Sorry I’m late!”

Ebb was the nicest person Simon knew. And surprisingly intuitive with people, for someone who spent her life with plants. “Hiya Simon–ahoy!” she shouted, cheerfully. “S’that your boyfriend?”

“What? Baz? No!” Simon said. “I mean… yes,” he corrected. Because Baz _was_ his boyfriend, officially. And, somehow, the way Ebb’s eyes sparkled made it impossible for Simon to tell her the truth. To let her down. “How do you know?”

“The way ya look at each other,” Ebb laughed. “And to think you used to be at each other’s throats.”

“We still are at each other’s throats! I mean… we…”

“Simon, s’okay.” Ebb patted Simon heartily on the back. That simple gesture had never failed to make Simon feel better. Simon wished he could live with Ebb and take care of plants with her forever, instead of dealing with Davy at what he was supposed to call home. “Now, let’s make something for your boyfriend, yeah?” she said, with a pot of basil on her hands.

“Yeah… okay.”

xxx

Simon arrived home with his head full of thoughts about Baz and the general strangeness of the day. Thankfully, Davy was nowhere to be seen–he was probably still at school–so Simon could go around the house and talk to Cherry and Scone without worrying to be overheard by his father.

Simon liked to talk to his cats. He wasn’t good speaking with people, but it was different when it came to animals. And plants.

He told them about Baz as he fed them, and then went to take a shower.

As Simon took off his hoodie, he remembered he still had Baz’s phone number on his forearm. It was a bit smudged but it was still legible.

Simon took his phone from his pocket and dialed in the number to save it. As he did, he hit the wrong button and accidentally pressed _call_.

“Hello?” a husky voice at the other end said.

Fuck. Simon hang up immediately.

He wasn’t prepared for a phone call right then, so he just finished stripping and stepped into the shower. For Simon, showers were a relaxing way to end the day and wash the problems away.

After the shower, Davy wasn’t yet home, so Simon grabbed some bread and made himself a sandwich. When he was done, he went straight to bed.

The intensity of the day made Simon exhausted, but at the same time, he found it difficult to get any sleep. After that awkward phone call, Simon thought he should say something to Baz. So, he grabbed his phone and typed:

_thank you_

And then he added:

_for being my boyfriend_

Then, Simon realised Baz didn’t have his number, so he added _simon_ at the end and pressed send.

And then he wished he hadn’t because it sounded confusing. So, he sent Baz another text:

_im simon_

No answer came through. Maybe Baz was busy at that moment, Simon thought. He’d respond when he got the time.

Eventually, Simon fell asleep waiting for a reply.

xxx

The following day Simon woke up to a text from Baz:

_You are a terrible boyfriend_

He had sent it very late at night and Simon wondered what he’d been doing.

Simon smiled at his phone screen. It’s strange how some things make you smile for no particular reason, Simon thought.

The trip to school was different from other days, better. Simon felt somehow lighter. It was a strange sensation. Unfamiliar.

Baz sat with Simon and his friends at breakfast. He didn’t say a word and no one said anything to him, either, but it wasn’t as bad as Simon would have thought.

Agatha looked at them from her table and Simon fought the urge to go and invite her to their table. It should take a bit more time for that to happen.

Simon joined Baz’s table at lunch, with Dev and Niall.

“Gentlemen,” Baz said. “Have you met Simon? My…”

“Boyfriend,” Simon supplied. It started to feel less weird.

Niall looked up at Simon, indifferent. “Might have heard of him.”

xxx

They ended up establishing it as a routine: Breakfast with Simon’s friends, lunch with Baz’s minions–Baz called them that, not Simon.

It wasn’t until Friday that Baz’s friends actually addressed Simon.

“Hey, what are you doing this weekend?” Dev asked to both of them. “Another romantic date of yours?”

_Another?_

“Yes…” Baz started, his voice faltering just a bit. “We’re going to…”

Simon looked at Baz, who was staring at him with an awkward expression, as if silently screaming for help.

“The cinema,” Baz said at the same time Simon said, “The Wavering Cafe.”

“The cinema and then the Wavering Cafe,” Baz clarified.

“Are you bringing him to the gig?” Dev asked.

Simon couldn’t help inquiring, “What gig?”

“Hasn’t he told you? We are in a band,” Dev explained.

No, Baz hadn’t told him. “What?” was all Simon could say.

“The Insidious Humdrum,” Dev said. “We’re playing at the World of Mages on Saturday night.”

The Insidious Humdrum. Were they even serious?

“Hey, you should bring your friends,” suggested Niall.

“No,” Baz instantly growled.

“What?” Niall said. “The more the merrier.”

Simon wasn’t sure if this was another evil scheme of Baz’s, but then he realised that even if he knew for sure that it was a trap, he’d still go in. “We’ll be there,” he said.

Niall smirked, pleased. “Good.”

xxx

The ride to work was better than other days. Simon didn’t hate the music at all, anymore–though he wouldn’t tell Baz. And he kept imagining Baz playing the songs, singing them. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Baz was in a band. What did he do in the band? Was he the singer?

Baz parked the car with his usual lack of delicacy–not of skill, though, Simon had to admit.

“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Baz asked.

Simon’s stomach did something very weird. “Yeah. My place. At four.”

“Send me the directions,” Baz said. He stared at Simon for a moment and then leaned closer. “Bye, love,” he said. And then he kissed Simon.

Simon’s heart did the same thing his stomach had done just seconds before. And then there was nothing else – just Baz’s cold lips against Simon’s, and the fact that he didn’t entirely hate it. But as suddenly as it had started, the kiss ended, and Simon was left again with that strange stiff sensation that came after being in touch with Baz’s skin. “Bye b-babe,” he managed to say.


	3. Chapter 3

Cherry and Scone had been Simon’s only friends until Penny came along. He told them everything. Simon was fully aware they were just cats, so they didn’t understand what Simon was saying, but he also knew that they could understand his feelings; they were always there for him when he was sick or sad.

Simon had taken them in from the streets when he was ten years old. He took pity of them and decided to hide the kittens in his room. Eventually, Davy found out about them and tried to kick them out on many occasions. But they always came back to Simon.

“Baz kissed me,” he told them. Cherry looked at him and meowed. “Yeah, yeah, I know he only did it because Ebb was standing behind me.” Simon brought his finger to his lips “He kissed me…” It was now Scone who looked at Simon as if accusing him. “Don’t look at me like that! I know he isn’t my real boyfriend. I don’t _want_ him to be.” Cherry yawned and left for the dining room. Scone started licking his brown fur. “Okay, fine, I’ll shut up,” he said, picking Scone up and going to his room. “But, for the record, I’m not obsessed. And I didn’t like it.”

Simon tried to sleep. He really did try. But all he managed to do was: Toss and turn in bed for thirty minutes, get some midnight snacks, roam some more, annoy the cats, zap through the many TV channels—no, seriously, _so_ many; but sadly, quantity and quality were often indirectly proportional and Simon always ended up watching the Nature channel. But today he couldn’t even enjoy the Nature channel. He couldn’t stop thinking about how the following day would go. If Baz would kiss him again…

He walked out of the sofa and decided to go to the school roof. At least there he could see the stars.

xxx

Simon knew that the trip to Watford would take him half an hour. He also knew that it would be dark in the streets, and that the autumn weather wouldn’t be gentle. Another thing he knew was that he would have to climb the entrance in order to get in. What Simon didn’t know was what he’d find once he was there. Or rather, who.

There was Baz, leaning against the wall. It was not his usual, smugly, casual Baz Lean that he pulled off to pretend he didn’t care about anything. It was quite the opposite. The back of his head was resting on the wall with his right arm up above his forehead, his face tilted upwards. His eyes were closed and his chest moved up and down as he breathed. It almost looked like he was crying. A cigarette was consuming itself between his fingers. 

“Baz?”

Baz took a deep breath before opening his eyes. “Snow,” he said, and tossed the remnants of the cigarette on the floor. He quickly shifted from his position to a full-on Baz Lean — arms and legs crossed, shit-eating grin. “Have you been following me again?”

“What? No!” Simon protested. “I couldn’t sleep,” he confessed. Then he added, “Just like you.”

Baz arched his eyebrows. “What makes you think so?”

Simon didn’t know how he knew it. He just did. It was always like that with Baz. Simon shrugged.

Unexpectedly, a comfortable silence followed, in which Baz slid down, sitting on the ground, and Simon took the opportunity to look at the night sky. It was one of his favourite things about the roof. Sometimes, Simon liked to imagine he could fly and leave all his problems behind. Except, this time he didn’t really feel like escaping. Simon didn’t exactly understand why, but, right then, Baz felt more like a solution than a problem.

Simon looked back at Baz, who was staring straight into the distance, a blank look on his face. There was clearly something troubling him and Simon was determined to know what it was. “Twenty questions,” he said, like a revelation.

That seemed to bring Baz back to Earth. “What?”

“We could play twenty questions,” Simon explained. “You know, to get to know each other better. Since we’re boyfriends and all.”

“We are _nothing_ ,” Baz spat.

“I know. But we should know about each other if we’re going to pretend to be dating.” Simon sat on the floor beside Baz, leaning his shoulder against the wall.

“Fine,” Baz said after a long silence. “Let’s play your stupid game.” He took his packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and lit one.

Simon asked the first thing that came to his mind: “Why do you smoke?”

“I like it.”

“It’s gross. Stop it.”

“Because you tell me to?” Baz bitterly laughed.

“Well, yeah,” Simon said, matter-of-factly. “I don’t want to kiss an ashtray.”

“Fine,” Baz said, puffing out smoke. “Then I won’t kiss you anymore.”

“You know what?” said Simon, his fingers fidgeting in his hoodie pocket. Forget it…”

“What?” Baz smirked. “You want me to kiss you again?”

“No! I mean… Yes?” Simon said, playing with the palms of his hands. Baz never failed to make him nervous. Ever. “For the sake of our relationship.”

“Our fake relationship,” Baz supplied.

“Yeah.”

“Then you’ll have to bear with it,” Baz said, taking a puff on his cigarette. “The smoking.”

“Can’t you at least try?”

“Mind your own business, Snow,” he said. “Why do you work?”

“Huh?”

“It’s my turn asking,” Baz said. “I didn’t know your family had economic problems.”

“Well… Technically we don’t. But my dad _encourages_ me to work,” Simon said, quoting his father. “He says that’ll sharpen my sword. Whatever that means,” he continued. “But it’s fine, I love working at the flower shop. Ebb is great. I think I want to be a florist, too,” Simon confessed. “Do you like flowers?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Just answer.”

“No,” Baz said, hurriedly. “Do you have a bad relationship with your father?”

“Yeah…” Simon said. And then, God knows why, he added, “We’re just very different people.” Simon didn’t know why he was opening up to Baz, of all people, but he kept talking, “Davy has great plans for me, and I just… I just want to be happy.”

Baz stood in silence for a moment. “It’s your turn, Snow,” he finally said.

“Right,” said Simon. “Where have you been?”

Baz didn’t answer.

“Baz?” Simon asked, more worried than impatient.

Baz pressed his fingertips into his forehead. “I’m too sober for this.”

“Baz…” Simon pried.

It wasn’t until after some minutes, that Baz looked back at Simon and said, “Do you promise me you won’t dig in if I tell you?”

“No,” Simon said. “You have to tell me, it’s how the game goes.”

Baz got up to leave. “Then fuck the game.”

“Baz! Wait,” Simon shouted after him. “I won’t ask any more questions,” he said. “I promise.”

Baz stopped on his tracks and turned to look at Simon. His eyes were piercing him. He let out a breath and then, very quietly, he said, “I was in jail.”

It took Simon a moment to process Baz’s words. _Baz had been in jail_. It took Simon the best of him not to ask why. Simon wondered if that was why he wanted his help. “It’s your turn,” he managed to say.

“I don’t want to play anymore,” Baz said. “Let’s go to sleep.”

“Okay,” Simon conceded. “Uhm… Can you drive me home?”

“Fine. But no questions.”

“No questions,” Simon reluctantly agreed.

They were silent for the rest of the trip home; except for Simon’s thoughts, that couldn’t be louder. His brain couldn’t stop providing possible scenarios for Baz’s incarceration: Drunk driving, drug possession, drug dealing, stealing…

“Snow.”

“Yeah?”

“Get out of the bloody car.”

Simon hadn’t realized they were parked before his house. “Oh. Right.”

Out of the blue, Baz said, “You should sleep through all morning.”

“I work at nine.”

“Then call and say you’re feeling sick.”

“No… I’ll be fine,” Simon said. “Why are you so worried about me?”

Baz tsked. “I’m not worried about you,” he said. “I don’t want to be the boyfriend of a zombie, that’s all.”

Simon looked at Baz’s eye-bags and guessed that one zombie in the relationship was enough. Although, Simon had always thought Baz was secretly a vampire. No human could be that fast on the pitch. Or that bloody good-looking. But he didn’t tell Baz. “Sure,” he said and went out of the car. “You should sleep, too.”

“Goodbye, Snow,” Baz said, starting the engine. Simon could barely close the door before Baz drove off.

xxx

Simon went to work without sleeping at all. Ebb insisted that he should go home and rest, but Simon was just fine. Sleepy, yes, but he could still work. There was no way he was going back home. (Simon would rather slip into a coma than miss a day of work.)

Plus, it was Saturday, which meant flower deliveries. Simon fucking loved flower deliveries. Not only because he got to drive a scooter, but also because he loved the way people’s faces lit up when receiving flowers. It was one of the greatest feelings ever.

Time passed quickly, the way it always did when Simon was working–when he was happy–and soon it was noon and his thoughts about Baz and the date they were supposed to be having that day made their way back to the top of Simon’s head.

If they weren’t really dating, did they have to go through the trouble of going on dates? Did Baz just say it because Dev and Niall were there? That would make sense. But… he also said he’d come, when none of his friends were around. That made less sense.

Soon enough, Simon stopped obsessing over Baz and The Date and started _panicking_ instead. It was almost four in the afternoon and he hadn’t even changed. Not because he hadn’t tried, though. He’d spent the last half hour rummaging through his wardrobe, but everything was useless. Suddenly, it felt like he didn’t have any clothes at all. At least, none that were good enough to impress Baz.

Then, a thought smacked him: Why was he trying to impress Baz?

But before he could get the answer, the doorbell rang.

Simon looked at his phone. It was four o’clock sharp. Shit. Simon sighed, slipped into the first shirt and pair of jeans he saw, hoping it wouldn’t be too terrible, and went for the door.

“Hey,” he tried to say but his voice faltered. Because, holy fuck: Baz was all dressed up and holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand — red carnations, which in flower language meant “my heart aches for you.” (Not that Baz knew, of course.) (In Baz language it probably meant something along the lines of  “I really despise you but, since I am _so cool_ , I bought you roses. Or whatever these are.” )

Baz wasn’t in a suit, but close. He was wearing a black, fitted blazer, dark jeans—not shredded!—a silk plaid shirt, and a pair of shoes that were probably made in Italy.

Baz looked at Simon from top to bottom in a disgusted face. “Seriously?” he said.

“What?” Simon asked, and then he realized Baz was looking at Simon’s clothes. Oh. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Baz cocked an eyebrow. “Everything?”

“Should I go change?”

Baz hesitated and pursed his lips in an awkward face, avoiding Simon’s stare. “No,” he said. Simon had seen that face before — Baz was probably blushing. “We’ll be late for the movie.”

“Okay,” Simon shrugged. “Let me put these in water,” he said, taking the flowers. “And, uhm. Thanks.”

xxx

They arrived at the theater with plenty of time to spare.

They discussed which movie they would watch, while they stood in queue. Baz wanted to watch a war movie, _Dunkirk_ or something, whereas Simon prefered a comedy. Or an animated movie.

“We’re not watching _Cars 2_ ,” Baz argued.

“Three,” Simon corrected. “Why not?”

Baz rolled his eyes. “ _I_ won’t. If you want to watch it, go by yourself.”

Fine. If Baz wasn’t ready to acknowledge that some animated films were brilliant, it wasn’t Simon’s fault. Whatever. “What about a horror one?” Simon suggested.

“No,” Baz said, almost too quickly and averting his eyes. “I’m not in the mood for a horror movie.”

Yeah. Sure. Right. Simon didn’t buy it, not even for a second. He was delighted to know that Baz I-put-a-lot-of-effort-into-having-a-scary-appearance Pitch was actually _afraid_ of horror movies. Best thing he’d heard all day.

“Why are you grinning like an idiot?” asked Baz.

“Nothing,” Simon said, biting his lip.

“Stop it.”

Simon faked a stern face but only made it worse and had a laugh attack.

“Boys,” someone brought their attention. It was the girl in the ticket window. “Less flirting, more choosing,” she said. “I don’t have all day.”

“Two tickets for _Wonder Woman_ ,” said Baz. “Please.”

They entered the theater room a couple of minutes late because Simon wanted to buy popcorn and candy bars. _Who the hell doesn’t?_ thought Simon. Baz was annoyed because he missed the movie teasers, one of the best things about going to the theater, he said. Simon wondered from what fucking planet he’d come. Probably one far from the Solar System, like Kepler-22b. Or Qo’noS.

It turned out, _Wonder Woman_ was the best freaking movie ever. Simon didn’t really like Superhero movies that much, but this one was different. Plus, Diana was fucking cute.

When the movie ended, Baz didn’t say anything, he just smirked at Simon.

If Baz weren’t evil, he’d be bloody perfect, too. Actually, Baz would make a pretty competent superhero, Simon thought. And so he told him.

“Are you shitting me, Snow?” asked Baz.

“What? No,” said Simon. “Why?”

“Are you saying that, among the two of us, _I_ would make a good superhero?”

“If you weren’t evil.”

Baz smirked. “Everyone knows you’d be the chosen one, Snow.”

“What do you mean?” Simon asked.

“Are you honestly telling me you don’t see your fucking giant hero complex?”

“My what?”

“You like to take sacrifices for the rest,” Baz explained. “So everyone can go behind you, licking your bloody arse.”

“It’s called being nice,” argued Simon. “You should try it sometime.”

Baz simply said, “You’d be the Chosen One.”

“I’m not Chosen One material,” Simon protested. “I’m not special.”

Baz swallowed, frowning at Simon. “You’d be the worst Chosen One that’s ever been chosen.”

Yeah, there he was right. “And you’d be the broody villain, making everyone unhappy because of how deeply misunderstood he was.”

Baz looked like he was about to deny it but he was cut off by a member of the theater staff, asking them to leave the room so they could clean. Apparently, they’d been talking for some time after the movie ended.

xxx

They decided to go to the Wavering Café by foot, since it was only a five minute walk away.

They were arguing about something stupid when Baz grabbed Simon’s hand and pulled him into an alley.

Two thoughts immediately crossed Simon’s mind: Baz was going to beat him up; or, Baz was going to snog him senseless. That’s what always happened in movies and fanfiction.

But he did neither. Thankfully. Baz was looking carefully at the main street, as if he didn’t want someone to see him. Then it clicked for Simon: They were hiding.

Simon tempted a look at the street and recognized a woman, Baz’s aunt Fiona. “Why are we hiding from your aunt?”

“She may or may not think I have a date,” Baz explained.

“Why would she think that?” asked Simon.

Baz looked at him as if he was utterly stupid. “Because I told her?”

“Then why are we hiding?”

“I didn’t tell her the date was with _you_ ,” Baz said. “She doesn’t like you.”

Simon was well aware Baz’s family hated him and his father, but he couldn’t care less — the feeling was mutual. Plus, Baz’s dad was a dentist, and Simon didn’t trust dentists. (The electric chair was invented by a dentist.)

And despite all his makeup and all the effort he put into looking like a bad boy, Baz was kind of cute right now. He was just a boy, hiding from his aunt. Simon thought he liked Baz like that, when he forgot to be evil. It almost didn’t feel like a fake date.

But yeah, no. Baz was the enemy. And the fact that they were still holding hands didn’t make it any easier to hate him.

“Okay, she’s gone,” he said. “We can go.”

Baz let go of Simon’s hand and they resumed their way to the Wavering Café.

xxx

As Simon had expected, Agatha was working today. Simon knew she liked her work way more than she liked Watford. Agatha was a good student, she also did ballet and was in the school chorus, but only in the Wavering Café did she look like she was in her place.

Mindy was working today, too.

Baz supported his arm against the bar counter and looked at Simon. “What do you want, love?” he asked.

“Uh… I…” Simon was suddenly nervous. “Tea, please,” he said to Mindy. “And cherry scones.”

Baz said, “Pumpkin mocha breve for me.”

“Pumpkin what?” Mindy asked.

Baz explained Mindy how to prepare his ridiculous beverage while Simon made an apologetic face to her.

“Thanks, Mindy,” Simon said when she gave them what they ordered.

They settled on a nearby table, just the right distance from Agatha that it didn’t seem too deliberate.

“Did you know that a snail can sleep for three years?”

Baz looked at Simon over his cup. “Why the fuck would I know that?”

Simon shrugged. “Just trying to make conversation,” he said, stuffing a scone into his mouth. Then, he pointed at Baz’s cup and asked, “Is that good?”

“Try it,” Baz said, handing the cup to Simon.

It was the second time he had offered Simon an indirect kiss. Of course Baz wouldn’t think of that as much as Simon did… He probably didn’t think about it at all.

Simon took the cup, his fingers brushing Baz’s and took a sip. “It’s too sweet,” he concluded, and gave the drink back to Baz.

Baz snorted. “Says the one who’s just eaten his weight in sweets.”

“Yeah, eaten,” said Simon. “Drinking is different.”

Baz turned out to be a pretty decent company, when he wasn’t trying to make Simon’s life miserable. They talked about their schedules, even though Simon already knew exactly when and where Baz dedicated his spare time. (Except for the band thing.) (And the being in jail thing.)

“What a mess,” Baz said all of a sudden, with a displeased look. Seeing that Simon didn’t understand, he elaborated, “Your shirt.”

Simon looked at his white shirt. Except it wasn’t white anymore. Eating the scones had led to accidentally staining the shirt, which was now of a reddish colour. “Yeah… S’okay,” said Simon.

Baz arched an eyebrow. “It’s not?”

“It’s an old shirt anyway… Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not fucking worried about that, you idiot.” Baz lowered his voice because some people were looking at them, Agatha included. Then, he put his hand over Simon’s on the table, intertwining their  fingers. “I’m worried because now everybody will see me, and you, like _this_ ,” he said, gesturing towards Simon’s shirt. “They will all know you don’t care.”

“Care about what?”

“About me.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry,” Simon said. “When does the gig start?”

“At ten, why?”

“We can go to my place before it starts, so I can change,” said Simon. And then he added, “I can also make sandwiches if you want.”

“Alright.”

“Will you perform like that?” Simon asked Baz.

“No,” he replied. “I have spare clothes in the car.”

“Oh. Okay.”

xxx

The first and only person Simon had brought home was Penny. Although they both prefered to hang out at hers, she often visited him and helped him with his homework before settling on the sofa and marathoning Doctor Who. Penny was used to Simon’s mess of a room and even though she didn’t like Davy, they tolerated each other.

With Baz, it was a whole new experience. It was like he himself was seeing the house for the first time, noticing everything that was wrong with it: the awkwardness of the decoration, the severe lack of family pictures… His eyes localized every speck of dirt, every little imperfection and maximized it ten times.

“Sorry for the mess,” was all Simon could say. Baz didn’t say anything but, knowing him, Simon was sure he was regurgitating inside.

Cherry and Scone abandoned their place on the sofa–they fucking knew how much Davy hated them sleeping on his cross-stitched pillows, Simon couldn’t be more proud of them—and came to say hi to Simon.

When they saw Baz, the cats started rubbing against him—of course they did, cats went to negative energy, and Baz was a giant focus of it. He was like the Santa Claus of negativity, delivering it indiscriminately. Negativity for everyone. Simon was almost 100% sure that was Baz’s life motto.

Baz looked like he was constipated.

“Wait. You’re not allergic to cats, are you?” asked Simon.

“No. I’m not,” he said it like it was a bad thing. “My jeans are ruined.”

Fucking hell, no. Baz wasn’t allergic to cats. He was allergic to happiness.

“Your bathroom,” Baz said. “Can I use it?”

“Sure,” said Simon, shrugging.

Baz waited.

“Oh. It’s down the corridor,” Simon explained. “I’ll be in my room,” he said, gesturing towards his room door.

Baz nodded and went for the toilet.

Simon fed the cats and went to his room. He yanked off his shirt and threw it on the dirty clothes pile, _aka_ the floor. He opened his wardrobe again and had this feeling of deja vu. What was the clothing etiquette for attending your fake boyfriend’s gig?

Simon had never been to a concert. Not because he didn’t like music, he loved music. But he prefered the theater over the club.

He decided to consult the oracle, which was normally Penny or, in her absence, google. Simon grabbed his phone and typed ‘ _appropriate clothes to wear to a satanic band concert_.’

Dark clothes, apparently. Was he supposed to wear makeup, too? Simon looked at his clothes. There were many white shirts: Red shirts, yellow shirts, orange shirts, a couple of blue shirts, a grey shirt—with green letters that read _Everyone deserves a chance to fly_ from Wicked, that Penny had given him last Christmas—and one single dark shirt with a glow-in-the-dark TARDIS on it.

“I couldn’t find your–” Baz started as he entered the room. Simon turned around and caught his eye. Baz looked away, swallowing. “Hand soap.”

“Davy doesn’t let me buy it,” Simon explained. “Says it’s harmful for my skin. We have hand sanitizer…”

Simon suddenly felt self-conscious and exposed so he grabbed the Doctor Who shirt and put it on.

Baz was looking intently at the room walls — they were filled with Simon’s drawings. Mostly portraits of Cherry and Scone, some of Penny and Agatha, and also some weird surreal stuff that came to his mind. (Dragons, vampires, magic…)

Baz shifted his gaze to Simon’s shirt. “No way,” he said. “You’re not wearing that to my concert.”

“Why not?”

Then Baz said, very carefully, making a full stop after every word, “My boyfriend is not going to wear a fucking Doctor Who shirt to my fucking gig.”

“Uhm. Then you choose,” Simon told him, gesturing towards his wardrobe.

Baz sighed. “I’ll just give you one of the band.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I’ll be right back.”

Meanwhile, Simon went to the kitchen and prepared the sandwiches.

Baz came back completely changed: he was still wearing jeans, but these were black and shredded, and he wore a black T-shirt that read _THE INSIDIOUS HUMDRUM_ in blood red decorative letters, and a red skull with a pair of drums instead of bones. He handed Simon another one. “Large, right?”

“What?”

“Your size.”

“Oh,” Simon realized. Everyone always guessed he used a medium size but Simon’s shoulders were actually too broad, so he had to take a larger size. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Simon took the shirt and put it aside for later, he didn’t want to ruin it while eating the sandwiches.

xxx

They were almost late for Baz’s gig at the World of Mages. And, surprisingly, Baz wasn’t too grumpy about it. Although it wasn’t entirely Simon’s fault—they both had forgotten to look at the clock—Simon expected Baz to blame him anyway. But he didn’t. And it was not like Baz to miss the opportunity to practice his favourite sport: complaining about Simon.

Baz left Simon on the entrance and went to the backstage without saying a word.

“Simon!” His thoughts were halted by Penny’s arms around him. She loved to hug him. “Oh my God, you’re wearing a band shirt! Wait, are you wearing makeup?”

“Just eyeliner.” Simon shrugged. “Baz insisted.”

“Look who’s there,” said Penny, visibly annoyed, pointing towards the other side of the room where Rhys, Gareth, and Trixie were.

“Great!” Simon said, excited. “The guys came too.” He wasn’t sure they’d come, he knew Rhys didn’t like pubs. (Mostly because pubs didn’t like Rhys, either, since many of them weren’t exactly wheelchair friendly.)

“No,” Penny said. “ _Trixie_. Did you invite her, too?”

“Uh… I don’t think so?” Simon didn’t bother to tell her that the Penny-Trixie rivalry was ridiculous and completely one-sided, he had already tried many times before, unsuccessfully. Penny and Trixie were deskmates, like Simon and Baz, but all Penny could complain about was Trixie’s girlfriend, Keris, sometimes occupying her seat. At least her deskmate wasn’t an evil ex-con who tried to bring her downfall.

Besides, Simon liked Trixie. She was with him in drama class and it was fun. She was a bit manic, but she was nice.

A few minutes afterwards the lights of the club went out and someone started playing the drums. A few people whistled in excitement. Then, the stage came to life as the rest of the band started playing, too, illuminated by a couple of light focus: Niall at the bass, Dev at the drums, Baz at the guitar. Simon could feel his heart on his throat. It was an incredible sensation, actually.

A girl came into the stage and started singing. Keris.

“Guess that explains the Trixie thing,” Simon whispered into Penny’s ear. She just harrumphed.

Penny and Simon went to the front with Gareth, Rhys, and Trixie.

For some reason, Simon couldn’t look away from Baz. He couldn’t stop watching how his slim dark fingers danced along each string. He couldn’t help notice how he closed his eyes and bit his lower lip. He also sang the chorus alongside Niall.

They played a few songs Simon hadn’t heard before and then one caught his attention.

_I’m strong on the surface… Not all the way through._

Baz was singing it, not just the chorus. Simon knew what song it was because he’d listened to it many times in Baz’s car. It was “ _Leave Out All The Rest_ ”, by Linkin Park. Simon liked that song. He loved it, actually. And hearing it played by Baz—and sung!—was… otherworldly.

Baz’s voice was raspy and deep, which kind of contradicted another adjective that came to Simon’s head: Sweet.

After the concert, the band reunited with the rest and Simon didn’t know why he did it but he went to Baz and hugged him. Baz stiffened under his touch but Simon felt his cold hands grazing his back.

For the record, if Baz asked, he’d hugged him to keep the appearances.

“That was amazing,” Simon said, pulling away. “Honestly, wow.”

They stayed for a while before everyone went separate ways.

xxx

Simon didn’t remember how he’d got to his bed.

The last thing he remembered was dozing off in Baz’s car. He was so tired.

He decided it didn’t matter, and went to the kitchen to prepare himself breakfast. It was already midday, but it was also Sunday and that gave him the liberty to follow his own meal timetable, which was: Breakfast at noon, lunch sometime in the afternoon, dinner at 10ish, all kinds of snacks in-between.

Simon stepped into the kitchen, almost missing Davy eating spaghetti on the small table.

“Simon,” he said with his mouth full. “Sorry, I finished all the pasta. I think there’s a couple of eggs or something in the fridge.”

“Don’t worry,” said Simon, even though he knew Davy didn’t really worry. “I’ll go buy something later.”

“Good, great,” said his father. “We need after-shave, too. Can you buy it?”

By _we_ Davy meant _I_ , because Simon didn’t even grow a beard yet. “Sure,” he said, and went to prepare himself a couple of toasts.

Simon took the butter from the fridge and put it on the table while the toasts were making. Davy added his empty plate to the pile of dirty dishes filling the sink and resumed reading his newspaper with a cup of coffee. Simon guessed he’d have to clean that later.

Almost overlapped, two thoughts—memories, rather—flashed through Simon’s mind. One: Baz’s face when he saw the dirty dishes pile. Two: Baz carrying him to his room.

Like, in his arms.

Just as Simon was absorbed by this new mental image, the bread popped up out of the toaster, making Simon step back. And his heart almost explode.

Davy seemed to notice Simon’s distress. “Are you alright, Simon?” he asked, without looking up from his newspaper.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Simon replied, recovering from the heart attack. Simon couldn’t see his own face but, judging from the surge of heat rushing through his cheeks, he was sure he could be easily mistaken with a tomato.

“How’s your girlfriend, Amanda?” his father asked.

“Agatha is fine.” Simon pondered what situation would piss Davy off most, given the improbable event that he was genuinely interested. He went with the truth. “We broke up.”

“Good, good.”

“I’m going out with Baz.”

“That’s great, Simon,” his father said, finishing his coffee.

“Basilton Pitch, you know?” Simon insisted.

“I have to go, Simon,” Davy said, standing up. “You tell me about your little quarrel with the Pitch boy later, okay?” He gave Simon a pat on the shoulder and left.

“Yeah…”

Simon took his lunch and brought it to his room.

Out of the gazillion things he wanted to ask Baz about the previous night—and the jail issue—he opted for just sending him a thank-you text. He typed:

_thx for carrying me to my room_

Simon dedicated the whole afternoon to some of his favourite activities: Drawing and listening to music. At the same time he realised what he was drawing—Baz and the band—a rather disturbing question plagued Simon’s mind. He grabbed his phone again and sent him:

_WAIT did u undress me?_

But Baz, who Simon was convinced had made a deal with Satan to make Simon’s life a living hell, didn’t reply until late in the night. All he said was:

_You are welcome_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest In Peace Chester Bennington. You left so many reasons to be missed…♡


	4. Chapter 4

Simon loved music.

Growing up with his father didn’t allow him to enjoy music properly, so when he started at Watford High, the Drama Club was one of the things—if not _the_ thing—that made Simon fall in love with the place. Joining the Drama Club and performing musical scenes made him put a name to that strange sensation he had when he was around flowers, or when he remembered something about his mother. It made him feel home.

Simon didn’t love music because he was good at it—which he inexplicably was—or because it was entertaining. Simon loved music the same way the leatherback turtle loved travelling through the oceans. Or the same way a wizard loved magic.

He loved being surrounded by music. Casual, ambient music: People singing in the corridor, someone spontaneously dancing between classes… When Simon sang or danced in a theatre representation, it made him a part of something bigger. No one loved music like Simon did, he was sure about that.

Simon’s music sense wasn’t like Penelope’s. When Simon had asked her how she managed to dance like she did—Penny danced like no one else—she’d described it as having a bottomless well inside her; the energy, the rhythm, the steps, all of that was deep down inside that well; and buckets and buckets of it would draw up for her — as much as she needed, as long as she stayed focused.

Agatha liked music, too. She did ballet and was on the school chorus. But Simon wasn’t sure that she _loved_ it. He knew she liked the Café better than any class at Watford. Simon was under the impression that music sounded less like a passion and more like an obligation to Agatha.

And then there was Baz. Obviously, he was a brilliant musician—he just had to excel at everything he tried. Simon had always known Baz was bloody good at the violin. He used to sneak on him during his violin lessons. “Light a match inside your heart,” he’d heard Baz say to one of his classmates, who was having difficulty. “Then blow on the tinder.” Simon remembered thinking how oddly charming it sounded, coming from Baz. It worked for that student, but it never did for Simon.

For Simon, music was nothing like that. Going onto the stage felt exactly like exploding. Or going nova. Simon didn’t understand the basics of dancing, nor did he use any voice-warming techniques. He just needed to go up there and let himself go off.

Mitali Bunce—Penny’s mum—was the Drama professor, and, every year, she made them perform a different play for the school’s Leavers’ Party. This year it was _Grease_. Simon had the leading role, along with Philippa Stainton. It was also a tradition to keep it a secret until the day of the play. No, seriously, last year, they were playing Simon’s favourite musical, _Oliver!_ , and Simon got the main character’s role. When Penny’s mother discovered he’d told her about it, she’d made Simon play Fagin. Professor Bunce was dramatic like that. (He never told her that, in the end, he actually enjoyed doing Fagin’s role.)

Penelope hated drama as much as her mum loved it, Simon knew that. But, for some reason, Penny had taken pity on him in first year and, since then, she always helped Simon memorise his lines. He didn’t know how he’d survive this year without her.

Normally, rehearsal coincided with the last hour of football practice—Simon was only able to see half the training session from the school roof. This year, though, they had to start rehearsals one hour later so that Niall, who was also on the football team, could join the Drama Club.

Baz had football practice on Mondays and Wednesdays, and violin lessons on Tuesdays and Thursdays until 6 pm. Simon spent the time with Penny in the library while Baz was in violin class. (Or rather, Penelope forced him to sit for two hours straight while she helped him with homework.) On Mondays and Wednesdays, Penny had dance lessons—thank music—so Simon watched Baz play football until it was time for rehearsal. Then, Baz would drive him home.

Since he’d come back to school, Baz had been trying to hide the fact that he was limping on his left foot. (His best leg, Simon appreciated, thanks to all the years he’d been watching Baz play football.) This year, Baz opted for training his right foot, but, even from the roof, Simon could see him wincing. Simon wondered if Baz’s injury had anything to do with him being in prison. Did he have a fight with another inmate? If he was half as insufferable as a cellmate as he was a deskmate, Simon was certain the answer was ‘yes’. Or maybe it had more to do with the _reason_ he was in jail in the first place. Baz would have to tell him eventually, right? After all, they were boyfriends now, and boyfriends tell each other things like that. Of course they weren’t _really_ going out together but Simon still had the right to know. Otherwise how was he supposed to help him? But Baz was like that; when Simon thought he knew absolutely everything about him, the next day he came and did something that completely threw Simon off. Simon was sure he did it on purpose.

Since first year, Simon liked to draw Baz while he was on the pitch. Except he wasn’t playing football in Simon’s drawings: In one of them, he was running from a chimera; in another, Baz was a magician who could make fire appear in the palm of his hand. He had a whole sketchbook just for Baz.

Penny had told him many times he was obsessed with Baz, Simon had argued he just liked to keep his enemies close. “That doesn’t mean you have to carry them in your school bag,” she’d said.

Simon was curious about what Baz did while he was in rehearsal. Did he just wait in the library? No, Premal—the librarian, and Penelope’s brother—had told him he wasn’t there, when Simon had asked him. Then what? Did he spend the hour smoking on the roof? Yeah, that was most likely it, Simon thought. Of course Premal could also be lying to him, since he was Davy’s pet. But it didn’t matter; whatever Baz did, he always came for Simon when rehearsal ended and then he’d drive him home.

xxx

One Tuesday, Baz’s violin class was cancelled, so he drove Simon home two hours earlier.

Simon’s grades kind of directly depended on those Penelope-imposed “study” sessions, but he couldn’t ask Baz to wait two hours and then drive him home.

“What is it, Snow?” Baz asked, parking the car before the house.

“What?”

Baz stopped the engine and turned to look at Simon. “You’ve been quiet the entire ride.”

Simon shrugged. “I always am.”

“I meant more than usual,” Baz said, pursing his lips. He reclined his elbow on the windowsill of the car and turned his head so that his chin rested on his hand. “Whatever. I’m not interested, anyway.” Baz made a dismissive gesture with his free hand. “Just get out.”

Simon ignored Baz’s last words. “It’s my homework.”

“What about it?”

“Penny always helps me,” Simon said. “But it’s okay. I guess I’ll manage.”

Baz abandoned the window to face Simon again. “No, you won’t,” he said with a sneer. Simon tried to mimic Penny’s patented scowling face, but failed. Because, he knew it. Baz was right. Baz turned his attention towards the steering wheel, grasping it with both his hands, even though the ignition was still turned off—even though he only used one hand to steer it while driving. “I can help you,” Baz murmured.

Simon masked his surprise, his fingers toying with the laces of his hoodie. “Cool.”

After exiting the car, Simon opened the door to his home, hoping his dad wasn’t there. Baz looked hesitantly from the doorstep.

“Are you… afraid of my house or something?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Snow,” Baz growled. “You haven’t invited me in.”

Simon chuckled. “What are you, a vampire?” It would make sense, Simon thought. Even though his skin was dark, Baz was unnaturally pale. And his canine teeth were longer than average, so Simon couldn’t be one hundred percent sure they weren’t vampire fangs. Simon imagined himself drawing Baz as a vampire and tried to save that mental image for later.

Baz rolled his eyes. “I’m being fucking _polite_ ,” he snapped. “That might also sound like fantasy to you.”

“Alright,” Simon said, holding the door for him. “Please, do come in, milord Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch,” he parodied, exaggerating a reverence.

“Fuck you, Snow,” Baz said as he walked through the door. “Don’t ever call me Tyrannus again.” He sent a death glare towards Simon’s direction.

Simon burst out laughing until he had to stop to catch his breath.

After that day, Baz ended up at Simon’s every day after school. Except on Fridays, in which Simon helped Ebb with the flower shop and Baz was occupied with band practice.

At first, Baz had enough patience to help Simon with his homework. But Simon had mastered the art of procrastination years ago and their study afternoons soon devolved into drawing afternoons for Simon and violin practice for Baz. (Luckily for Simon’s grades, he still had the study sessions with Penny.)

Listening to Baz playing the violin in his room was like travelling back in time to fifth year. It felt like he was sneaking on him again, as if Simon was witnessing something that wasn’t meant for him. At first, he was awestruck. Simon would pretend to draw while he looked at him stupefied. (He’d also save the mental image of Baz playing the violin so he could draw it later.) Further on, Baz’s music inspired Simon to draw. (Castles, dragons, magical creatures…)

After Baz was long gone, Simon liked to go over all the drawings again before falling asleep, like a lullaby. It was the only way he could actually sleep.

xxx

It was a Sunday morning—or it should have been, but time worked differently for Simon on Sundays, so it was probably past noon—when Simon found himself compiling a mix CD. (Which was unusual for him, as he used his computer to listen to music at home.)

It started as an experiment. He created a new playlist on iTunes and put his favourite songs there. At first there were only songs from _Halsey_ , _Troye Sivan_ and _Twenty One Pilots_. After that, he added some of the songs from his favourite musicals, plus the songs he had to perform for the school play. He took a blank CD and inserted it into his computer to record it.

Simon paused before clicking the button.

He had another playlist he’d recently made. One named ‘Baz’s songs’. Simon considered mixing both playlists into one CD. But he discarded the idea and pressed ‘burn’.

While the computer did its work, Simon went downstairs to prepare himself a couple of sandwiches for breakfast-lunch-dinner. When he got back to the room, the CD was ready.

Simon picked it. He took a sharpie and named it ‘SIMON’S MIXTAPE’. Then, he put it aside and recorded another one. This time with both Simon’s and Baz’s playlists.

When it was ready, he named it and proceeded to listen to it while he drew.

When he woke up the next day, Simon realised he’d fallen asleep with the mixtape on. That meant Davy hadn't come back home the night before, either. It wasn't unusual—he used to stay away for extended periods of time when Simon was younger. But Simon kind of had hoped those days were long past. Even though Simon knew it was foolish, there was a part of him that missed his father, that still wanted to do father-son things with Davy. But the facts were there: Simon barely knew him; he saw him more like a distant relative than a father figure. And, it was kind of too late to change that now.

Yeah, Simon couldn’t help thinking how things could have gone differently, but that was pointless now. Plus, he had other people he cared about. Like Ebb and Penny; or Rhys and Gareth; even Trixie. And Agatha.

And yes, maybe Baz too.

xxx

On Friday, Simon overslept. He’d been drawing for hours the night before and he didn’t hear the first two alarms going off. He wasn't running late—Simon was never late to school—but he wasn't as early as usual, and Simon feared he might miss breakfast. So, when he realised it was raining outside, he didn't bother to go back for an umbrella and just began to walk fast.

"Snow." Simon turned around to see Baz's car stopped in front of the traffic lights. "Don't you have an umbrella?" Baz's window was zipped down and the rain soaked his leather jacket.

Simon ran a hand through his wet hair. "Yeah... At home."

"Of fucking course," Baz said, massaging his temples. "Get in." 

"It's okay, I..." Simon started, raising his hood and putting it over his head.

The traffic lights had turned green, but Baz was still stopped. "Just get in, Snow."

A few of the cars behind Baz's started honking at him. Baz gave them the finger.

"Okay," Simon said, hopping onto the car.

Baz murmured something Simon couldn't hear and rolled the window up. He slotted the gear into drive and, with the delicacy of a nine-toed troll, he hit the accelerator and drove all the way to school without saying another word.

xxx

Breakfast was the second best thing about Watford. Simon had to thank Baz for driving him to school that Friday, otherwise he would’ve probably missed it. And a day without morning scones was bound to be a terrible one.

Simon's life at school hadn't changed much since he’d started dating Baz. Sure, people posed a lot of questions at the beginning, but the novelty soon died out and they were left alone. (Baz's sneers might have had something to do with it, too.)

“Simon, your hoodie is soaking wet,” Penny pointed out from beside him.

“Right,” said Simon, finishing his scone. He yanked at his hoodie and pulled it off. The shirt he was wearing below moved up, as it always did, exposing the skin over Simon’s hips. He jerked it down and resumed eating the buttered scones.

Baz swallowed, looking weirdly at him. Simon assumed it was because of his messy hair, so he tried—unsuccessfully—to flatten it.

Penny had the ghost of a smile on her face, like she was remembering a joke she’d been told a long time ago.

The rest of the school day went rather smoothly and it was soon time to go to the flower shop.

xxx

“Snow,” Baz called, tossing his cig onto the—already dry—ground of the parking lot. “Where’s your hoodie?”

Simon noticed it was the first time he’d seen Baz smoking that day. He didn’t like him smoking at all, but he had to admit that was progress. _Big_ progress, in fact. “Uhm…” Simon paused, stopping before the Jaguar. “It was so wet that I left it in the locker,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “And then I sort of forgot about it.”

“How could you forget it? It’s fucking December,” Baz spat, as he searched for the car keys inside the pockets of his dark jeans. “We can go back.”

Simon lifted his shoulders into a shrug. “I’m always warm,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

Baz opened the door but didn’t get inside. “You walk home after work, don’t you?” he asked.

“Yeah…” Simon replied, from the other side of the car. He leaned against the Jaguar and folded his arms on the roof, resting his chin on them. Even though Simon knew Baz had band practice until late in the night, it looked as though he was going to offer driving him home after work.

Instead, Baz said, “For fuck’s sake, you’re shivering.”

“I’m not...” Simon wanted to protest but he realised it was true. “I—”

Baz took off his jacket. “Here,” he said, casually tossing it to Simon. “Take my jacket.”

Simon knew it was only a jacket—only three words: _take my jacket_ —but it felt like so much more. Baz never lent his jacket to anyone. Not even Niall.

Simon put it on, less because he was cold and more because he wanted to know how it felt, and got into the car. “Thanks.”

Maybe it was because of this whole cold vibe Baz gave off, or maybe because he hadn’t noticed until then that the jacket was wool-lined on the inside, but Simon had expected it to feel cold. It didn’t. At all.

Simon zipped it all the way up, slyly breathing in that familiar smell of cedar and bergamot. He looked at Baz while he drove, taking in his black T-shirt and the way the muscles in his arms rippled as he steered.

Baz was fucking fit. He’d always been. And, Simon had to admit, he did look cool. But, even though driving his father’s Jaguar made him look bloody attractive, Simon still prefered him on the bike.

Shoving that thought away, Simon turned the music volume down and questioned Baz about something that had been bugging him since Baz had come back: “Why are you limping?”

“None of your business,” Baz spat, sparing him a quick glance.

“Is that why you don’t ride your bike anymore?” Simon asked.

“I told you, it’s being repaired.”

“So long?”

“Yes, Snow,” Baz said, irritated. “I hate to burst your stupid little bubble, but things take fucking time.”

“Can you just—”

“No, I can’t,” Baz cut him.

“Can you stop being mean for just one second?”

“Then stop giving me reasons.”

Simon sighed in frustration and kept silent for the rest of the ride.

It wasn't until Baz had the car parked in front of the flower shop that Simon remembered the mixtape. He'd put it into his schoolbag on Monday before leaving for school, and had forgotten about it.

“I made this,” he said, taking it out and passing it to Baz. “So we can listen to it in your car.”

“No way,” Baz said, but took it anyway. “ _Simon and Baz’s mixtape?”_ he read. “What the fuck?”

Simon shrugged. “My favourite songs… and yours… mixed.”

“We’re not a couple, Snow.”

“But we _are_ a couple. Technically.”

Baz discarded the mixtape in the glove compartment, with the rest of his CD’s. “Only in front of others,” he said.

Simon was playing with the zip of the jacket. “Imagine Agatha gets in your car.”

“Why would Wellbelove get on my father’s car?”

“I don’t know.” Simon shrugged again. “To take her to her ballet classes?”

“You know that will never happen.”

“But it _could_ happen,” insisted Simon.

“I said no bloody way, Snow. I don’t want to hear your stupid music,” Baz growled, and looked away into the traffic.

“Fine,” Simon said, walking out of the car.

It wasn’t until he entered the flower shop that Simon realised he’d left the mixtape in the car. He turned around to see if Baz was still there but he was already gone.

xxx

“Nice jacket,” Ebb welcomed him as he entered the flower shop. “Is that your boyfriend’s?”

Simon nodded, feeling the heat of a blush tinge his cheeks. “Yeah.”

“You remind me of him.”

“Of Baz?”

“No,” Ebb said, absentmindedly. “Nico.”

“Nico?” Simon asked, confused.

“My brother.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Ebb’s eyes were teary. “He left a long time ago.”

“Left? Like, to another country?”

“No, no. He just left to another place.”

“Can you visit him?”

Ebb nodded. “Once a year.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes… Well, let’s not talk about sad things, yeah?” Ebb said, wiping her eyes. “Look at you, you look gorgeous. Fi will love it when I tell her.”

It was remarkably easy for Simon to forget that Ebb was married to a Pitch. She was just too good to be part of that family.

Simon gave her a smile.

Ebb didn’t talk anymore about her wife nor her brother that day.

They worked on Baz’s gift: A pot with basil and rose seeds planted in a way that, given time and proper care, would grow to form a heart shape. Since the pot was made of chalkboard, Ebb asked Simon to write something nice for Baz.

“Like what?” Simon asked. He grabbed a chalk and wrote the first thing that came to mind: _Flowers grow here_.

“Try writing something from your heart,” Ebb said, patting Simon’s shoulder. “It doesn’t need to be now, you can always change it later.”

Simon couldn’t tell her it was all fake. That there was really no valid reason for them to make that gift for Baz. Although Simon supposed he could give it to him as a thank you present for being his fake boyfriend.

xxx

Eventually, Simon took off the jacket. As he arrived home, he considered the best place to keep it. It should meet two conditions: a) Easy access. (For he was going to use it frequently.) b) Hidden from—Baz’s—sight. (For he was never going to return it.)

The wardrobe would do, he decided.

Simon began the bad habit of wearing the jacket all the time when he was home. Davy didn’t ask him about it, he probably didn’t even notice. But that wasn’t new. The strangest thing was that Baz hadn’t asked Simon to give it back.

Simon was practicing one of the scenes he had to do for the school play, when the doorbell rang, indicating that Baz had arrived. It was four in the afternoon, like every Saturday.

When Simon got to the door, Baz greeted him with a snort.

“What?” Simon asked.

“You’re a terrible Danny Zuko,” Baz scoffed.

Simon wondered if Baz had heard him practicing but he knew he couldn’t be heard from the street. Unless he had like, super-hearing powers or something. Then it dawned on him he was wearing the jacket and that might be the reason behind Baz’s conclusion. _Shit_ , he mentally cursed.

“Wait,” Simon said when they were already upstairs, before entering his room. “How do you know?”

“How do I know what?”

“The play.”

Baz stopped on his tracks and swallowed. “Because you told me, obviously.” He looked at the wall.

No, Simon hadn’t told him. He hadn’t even told Penny. (He wouldn’t risk a repeat of last year.) It had to be someone else who’d told Baz. Was it Niall? What if Baz was flirting with Philippa and she’d accidentally revealed it? Should Simon be jealous about that?

Simon decided that yes, he should be jealous if Baz was flirting around with other people. They were supposed to be boyfriends.

Baz settled on Simon’s bed and started silently doing homework. Since Baz already knew about the play, Simon sat on his desk and continued practicing his lines, hoping he wouldn’t mind.

xxx

“ _That’s cool baby, you know…_ ” Simon paused, failing to remember what came next. “ _You know…_ ”

“ _You know how it is, rockin’ and rollin’ and whatnot_ ,” Baz finished for him, exasperation creeping into his voice. “You’ve gone over this line ten times now.”

“Yeah, sorry…” Simon apologised, scratching the back of his neck.

“How can you have the leading role with such poor memory?”

“Guess I’m good,” Simon shrugged. “I’m better when someone helps, though.”

“No,” Baz said, dryly. “I’m not— No,” he repeated, shaking his head. “Just, no.”

“It’s fine. You don’t have to,” said Simon, and resumed working on the scene.

After ten minutes of Simon struggling with that same line, Baz gave up. “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he said, standing up and abandoning his homework. “Fine, I’ll fucking help you.”

When they were done with Simon’s lines, Baz resumed working on his homework. Simon took his sketchbook—his regular one—and started drawing.

It was easier for him to draw while Baz was playing the violin, he discovered it inspired him greatly. But Baz hadn’t brought the violin today.

Simon started his computer and opened iTunes and put the playlist he’d used for the mixtape. “Do you mind?” he asked Baz.

Baz sighed. “Whatever.”

Simon started drawing a little boy playing with a red ball. As he progressed with the drawing he realised it was himself when he was younger. He didn’t like it. Not finding any more inspiration, Simon closed the sketchbook and put it away.

When he looked back at Baz, Simon almost fell off his chair: Baz was lying on Simon’s bed, his face was half buried in his textbook, his hair hanging loose. His stomach rose and fell in a soft rhythm. He was sleeping. Cherry and Scone were one at each side of him.

 _Cute_ , Simon thought. And then, without thinking it, he took out his other sketchbook—the one with drawings of Baz—and began drawing the scene before him.

After some minutes, Baz made a soft sound and Simon jumped, fearing he would wake up and catch him drawing him. (Simon was certain that if that happened, Baz would finally fulfill his threat of giving Simon a Viking’s funeral.)

Baz didn’t wake up, but Simon hid the sketchbook anyway. He grabbed his phone and, very quietly, took a photo of Baz and the cats. For later.

Simon tried without success to do some homework before Baz woke up.

“Snow,” Baz said, rubbing his eyes. He was visibly angry. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I tried,” Simon lied.

“Fuck, I have to go,” Baz cursed, gathering his things in a rush.

“Where?” Simon asked.

Baz cocked an eyebrow at him. “Home?”

“Right,” said Simon. “I’ll see you on Monday, then.”

“Bye, Snow.”

After Baz left, Simon resumed the drawing of him and the cats until he fell asleep.

-TBC- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting!


End file.
